


Life on the Edge

by ijemanja



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Doomed Relationship, F/F, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-17
Updated: 2005-03-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 14:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1822117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ijemanja/pseuds/ijemanja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's seductive and dangerous, and she tells herself this woman will always, always be Psi Corp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life on the Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Written for netgirl-y2k, for femslash05.

Her eyes are grainy, her neck and shoulders are sore and tight, and it's morning.

In between responding to messages that cued up during the night shift and realising she needs to make a trip to the gardens sometime over the next few days because her precious coffee supply is running low, she notices a hair clasp lying on the counter.

She stares at it for a moment before remembering it's been there for three days, since the last time Talia was over and took down her hair and left the simple black clip lying just there. She doesn't touch it, just goes and finishes getting dressed.

But she knows she's going to be thinking about Talia all day, now.

The tension in her neck develops into a nice stress headache by mid-shift. It probably also has something to do with skipping coffee that morning in order to stretch out her stash a little longer.

She can picture the exact look on Stephen's face if she were to tell him just how crappy she's feeling right now; disapproving and stern and a little incredulous, right before starting in on the lecture about stress management and the importance of getting enough rest. Like he's one to talk.

A much more pleasant image is the one wherein Talia is giving her a massage with those slender, pale hands that most people never see, let alone feel next to their bare skin. The pain just melts away under those skilful fingers.

It's a persistent image, too, and it sits in the back of her mind all the while she's settling an irritating dispute between two independent Pak'ma'ra traders over who gets the 'good' berth (which definitely isn't helping her headache.)

When she finally gets around to a lunch break, it almost isn't a surprise to see Talia sitting at a table in the main thoroughfare of the Zocalo. It looks like she's with a client, though, and Susan is on her way to catch up with Garibaldi, and so all they do is meet each other's eye for a moment and smile.

She thinks of the romantic dinners they might have had if they were different people while eating in the officer's mess with Michael - the sort of intimate, elegant meals the station's most exclusive restaurants could provide. It's something they'll probably never do. About all they've managed so far is a quiet drink or two and the occasional casual lunch, and it seems wrong that she can't quite resolve the image of her and Talia enjoying a proper night out together. She doesn't do anything stupid like buying flowers and candy, either, but part of her wants to.

It all means something. This thing between them probably isn't just about sex and a friendly face at the end of the day.

Starting up with the local Psi Corp representative was never in Susan Ivanova's game plan, though, and it makes things complicated. And Talia might be just a commercial telepath, but she wears the gloves and the clothes and the badge. Except when all those things come off.

And it is the ultimate guilty pleasure to watch those gloves come off. When those pale, slender, hands reach for her, she feels rebellious, in defiance of thirty years conditioning.

_Stay hidden. Never let them near you._

Garibaldi asks her what's going on, because her mind is wandering and she's staring off into space and leaving her fork hanging in mid-air more often than not - though she guesses he's mostly just annoyed she isn't paying enough attention to him.

She tells him she has a headache.

*

Her hands are clenched in tight fists, grasping at the sheets; it's the middle of the night and Talia's hand is between her thighs.

When they're like this, she's afraid sometimes, and she can't seem to help it.

Does Talia notice the defensive walls Susan has built up over years of guarding her mind against intrusion, just as her mother taught her as a child? No, Susan reminds herself, she couldn't - not unless she tried to get past them, and telepaths don't do that without permission. The good ones don't anyway, and Talia is one of the good ones.

She takes it as a sign of her own personal growth that she's reached this point, where in the past she would have denied there being such a thing as a 'good' telepath at all. And when she tells Talia this one day, Talia manages to be both amused and serious in quick succession.

' _I'd never intrude on your thoughts,_ ' she said then, and probably will say again, and Susan always wants to believe her.

She wants a lot of things she doesn't let herself have, though. She wants to let Talia in, she wants to share all her deepest darkest secrets.

' _But in close proximity, you pick up stray thoughts._ '

It isn't really a question - she doesn't really need to ask.

' _Strong emotions are more common. Especially if I'm... close to the subject._ '

Susan has always thought of it as rape. When Talia talks about it, it sounds like sex.

When Talia shifts and rests her cheek against Susan's hip, she moves herself, turning them both over and stretching out above Talia and finding her lips and tasting herself there.

The urge to trust Talia and share all her secrets is strong. It's almost as strong as the urge to touch her skin just like this, with every inch of her.

It's seductive and dangerous, and she tells herself this woman will always, always be Psi Corp. It goes against everything Susan's believed in since she learned how to _say_ 'Psi Corp', and it would be insane to forget all of that over this one woman. But thinking like that is useless, because Talia will come to her door again, and she will let the telepath in.

There's a definite air of melodrama to all of this, a Romeo and Juliet parallel or two to be drawn, and she pointed this out to Talia one night while stretched out on the couch.

Talia, more focused on playing with Susan's hair spread across the armrest only said, ' _You Russians and your tragedies. I hope you don't see a suicide pact in our future._ '

Sometimes she has to remind herself that the issues here are mostly hers - it can't be a case of forbidden love after all, if she's the only one forbidding it. When she's in a logical mood, she remembers this.

She's lucky, she tells herself, that Talia puts up with her - Talia, who always has to hold back.

'I'm sorry,' Susan says, her forearm over her eyes.

Talia is always understanding, though. She rubs her hand over Susan's stomach.

'Don't be sorry.'

'How can you ever relax around me? You're being so careful, I know. Me and my stupid hang-ups.'

She's had a bit too much wine, and knows she rambling, but can't seem to stop herself.

'Don't I look relaxed to you?' Talia's teeth nip playfully at her shoulder. 'Because I'm feeling very relaxed.'

That low voice of hers is so distracting. Susan shifts her arm behind her head and looks over at her.

'You're drunk.'

Talia laughs. 'And who's fault is that?'

Susan provided the wine this time, and knows her cue.

'Mine,' she concedes, 'My fault.'

*

It's morning and there's an arm draped heavily over her waist and a faint breath tickling her ear. It's the first time Talia has stayed over, the first time in a long time she's woken up with someone next to her.

She puts on her robe and uses the bathroom while Talia stirs slowly from sleep. There's a muffled good morning and a lazy smile when Susan sits on the side of the bed and says she has to be on duty in half an hour.

'I guess a leisurely breakfast in bed is out of the question then?' Talia drawls, propping her head up with one hand.

'Next time,' she says, throwing the phrase in casually, 'I'll set the alarm for earlier.'

'Earlier? God, as if this isn't depressingly early enough as it is,' Talia groans.

'Not all of us have cushy jobs that let us sleep in, you know,' she responds.

Talia sits up and runs her fingers back through her hair, grumbling, 'Next you'll want me to salute you and march in formation.'

Susan thinks of several possible responses to that, and finally settles on, 'You're not a morning person, are you?'

Talia sighs and then lets out a short laugh. 'Not really.'

'Good, me neither. I'm going to put on some coffee.'

Talia gets dressed in her clothes from the night before and sits at the counter sipping from a mug. She watches as Susan moves around her quarters, carrying out her morning routine.

'Stay as long as you want,' she says. 'There's fruit in the cooler if you want breakfast. I have to go,' she adds apologetically.

She's standing in the kitchenette, feeling awkward, while Talia is sitting there looking like she owns the place.

'Go, I'll be all right. Thank you for the coffee,' she says, lifting her cup.

Susan doesn't go; she leans across the counter. She opens her mouth to speak, and hesitates.

She's all too aware that this is still a casual thing, and she isn't sure how to tell Talia that she's glad they've at least progressed past feeling each other up on the couch and going home to sleep alone. It's a sentiment she's rarely had to put into words before.

Just for a moment, she thinks about how she doesn't have to put it into words at all, and how it might be to just let Talia _feel_ what she is feeling.

Meanwhile, Talia has taken her hands and Susan looks down at their fingers entwined. Talia hasn't put her gloves on yet, she notices.

'I'm glad we did this,' she says, instead of all the rest of it.

'So am I.'

'We should do it again.'

'Definitely. I'd come for the coffee alone,' she says. 'Of course, there are other perks.'

'The shower, right?' she jokes, and Talia smiles brilliantly in response.

'Right.'

She pulls away and moves to refill Talia's cup with the last of the coffee.

'Thank you,' she says, her hand smoothing gently over Susan's forearm. 'You're spoiling me.'

It doesn't feel like enough, though.

end


End file.
